


Kiss of War

by agneskamilla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Violence, past non-snarry pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agneskamilla/pseuds/agneskamilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dance of two souls around each other through the horrors of war, and the intrigues of London’s polite society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> Originally written for 2013 Secret Snarry Swap for alafaye. Thanks dear mods, for all the patience and help!
> 
> Thank you so much, keyairreem, for all your help, suggestions and support. It is greatly appreciated!

**1821, Lecturer’s Hall, Guy’s Hospital, London**  
  
„…henceforth we may see a generation of physicians leaving these halls, who have not only mastered the ignorant waving of their scalpels, but are also capable of using their sharpest tool, their wits.” With these sharp words, customary scowl firmly in place, accompanying a tense nod, the lecturer descended the podium.  
  
For a moment, there was absolute silence, then the Hall burst up in noise. Everybody was cheering, clapping, and gossiping with their neighbours, while some brave individuals dared to show their appreciation in a form of shouted ‘hurray’s’. It took several minutes until the pandemonium died down, gentling into the deep buzz of an excited audience. Everybody was keen to ask the lecturer their questions, or to give their insight to their neighbour about the man on the podium.  
  
“...war hero!”  
  
“...awarded for his service...”  
  
“...hard taskmaster...”  
  
“...feared even by the toughest soldiers...”  
  
“...ingenious...”  
  
“...Lord Wellington’s chief surgeon...”  
  
Harry Potter, sitting in one of the rows in the back with Doctor Granger, just smiled to himself as he watched the lecturer answering the questions. The man’s posture was straight, almost stiff, his elegant hands resting on the table before him. His dark eyes didn’t betray his annoyance, although Harry suspected the man wasn’t happy with all the inane inquiries directed his way. His long, black hair was tied back with a ribbon, and his tailcoat followed the lines of his lithe body. Severus Snape was a dashing sight, even with his hooked nose and severe features. Harry’s eyes were starved for every detail, as he hadn’t seen the man for years.  
  
“Now I can understand your fascination with the man, Harry,” Doctor Granger commented quietly. “You must have learnt a lot under his tutelage during your service in the army. And now I understand your description of his _‘unyielding, passionate and professional’_ character as well,” he added with a smile. Harry couldn’t stop the blush which painted his cheeks. For the five years that he had been an apprentice to Doctor Granger, Harry never stopped giving praise to Severus Snape, admiring the man’s skills, devotion, and ingenious solutions which had been born in the heat of battle.  
  
“Oh yes, I have learned a tremendous amount from him,” Harry agreed awkwardly. Doctor Granger spared Harry from further embarrassment as he turned his attention back to the questions presented to Doctor Snape.  
  
Harry used the next twenty minutes to enjoy the cultured tones of the man, the witty sarcasm of his replies, and the slightest twitching of his graceful hands, which was the only sign of his impatience—recognisable only to Harry, who knew the man’s mannerism so well. It took a long time before the last question was asked, and the throng started thinning. After all, Doctor Severus Snape was a shining star in London’s society, and he could expect a warm welcome from the ton as well. He was heroic, famous, rich and unmarried; all those things together were an infallible key to the heart of the well-bred society.  
  
Harry and Doctor Granger left their seats only when the majority of the crowd had already departed.  
  
“I would love to have a conversation with the man myself. I wonder if you might introduce me to him; after all, you are an old acquaintance of his,” Doctor Granger suggested, and Harry was outright filled with terror.  
  
“Er, I’m not even sure that he remembers me. It was years ago I met him, and we were forced together by dire circumstances, fighting a war, trying to keep as many as possible alive. And I’m sure he is busy, being a guest lecturer in the medical school, and...” Harry frantically searched for any reason which might prevent him from meeting the man yet.  
  
Doctor Granger seemed to sense his reluctance.  
  
“You are right, Harry, of course. We shouldn’t disturb the man so early in his stay in London, although I hope we will have an opportunity later to speak with him.” Harry sighed with relief as the two of them walked toward the exit of the auditorium. “Probably such a chance will arise with our mutual working in Guy’s hospital, or at the salons and dining halls of the fine society where we unavoidably will be invited in the company of my aunt,” Doctor Granger added teasingly.  
  
“Oh, please don’t remind me,” Harry groaned.  
  
“It will not be that bad, I promise.” Doctor Granger winked. “After all, it is all for Hermione’s sake.”  
  
Harry only nodded.  
  
As they were walking through the doors leading them out of the lecture hall, Harry couldn’t resist, and risked a last glance backwards. His eyes had met fathomless onyx ones, before the owner of those eyes broke the contact post-haste, and turned his back to Harry. But that split second of communication let Harry know that Doctor Snape remembered precisely who Harry was. Harry turned back, and adjusted his steps to Doctor Granger’s.  
  
“We must hurry up,” Doctor Granger stated as they reached the bottom of the staircase and walked out into the spring afternoon. “The ladies expected us an hour ago.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, and they quickened their steps toward the house of the Dowager Baroness, Lady Margaret Manners, the aunt of Doctor Granger.  
  
In spite of all the exciting sights London could offer, Harry’s head was filled with pictures of elegant white hands clenching, soothing, bloodied, on the whole way.

  
  
**16th June, 1815, Quatre Bras, Belgium, United Kingdom of the Netherlands**  
  
The whole camp was in disarray as Harry passed hurriedly by row upon row of freshly erected tents to get into the back area of the field where the medical unit was stationed. It was late in the evening, but the camp was in no condition to settle down for the night. The French forces had retreated only a few hours ago, leaving death and chaos in their wake.  
  
Dead bodies lay everywhere; the remaining soldiers tried to help the injured, and gather the dead for burial, but the British regiment was greatly diminished in its numbers due to the many deserters, and fallen military men. The reinforcement troops were still coming, many hours late to replenish the rank, but the remaining army seemed to be undecided and clueless about how to proceed.  
  
As Harry drew closer to the field hospital, the hustle became more and more pronounced. Carts were coming and going; some wagons left in a hurry, loaded with the injured who were still stable enough to be transported to Brussels for further medical care. Some other carts arrived from the battlefield, carrying the wounded and dead who had been left unattended for hours. Not only the carts, but soldiers carrying stretchers or bringing in comrades on their shoulders arrived, as well.  
  
In the middle of this hell on earth stood the man Harry was searching for. His white coat was covered in blood and dirt, but he stood proudly, giving instructions, and trying to reinstate some order.  
  
“Check the pulse before bringing somebody in. The dead must be taken to the back. Those who are still alive will be treated according to the seriousness of their injuries and urgency of need for medical care. The most severe cases first, then the others. ”  
  
“But sir, surely the officers may take priority!” interrupted a man supporting a scarlet-coated gentleman who seemed to have a leg injury, but was able to move with a little aid.  
  
“I don’t care about ranks. The only thing which interests me is human life. If you let me do my job, I will save as many as possible. Now, my staff and I will classify the seriousness of the injury; those in need of an immediate treatment will be brought to the tent on the left, the others to the right. The ones able to withstand the journey to Brussels will be transported immediately. ” Everybody moved to follow his orders as the man stormed back into the tent serving as a field hospital to fulfil his promise and save as many as he can. Harry moved along with the crowd to find some way to make himself useful.  
  
It was many hours later when Harry, tired, covered in blood and filth with muscles aching from overuse, had the opportunity to speak with the man. The field hospital settled down for the night; all the wounded were treated or transported. Each of them collapsed into a chair in the corner of the tent.  
  
“Mr. Potter. Will you ever stop pestering me with your presence?”  
  
“I’m sorry Doctor Snape, sir, I just wanted to check, that you were... well.”  
  
“I, in contrast to you, spent my day behind and not _on_ the frontlines.” Snape’s frosty reply didn’t really bother Harry, as he was used to the man’s snarky comebacks. “At least you managed to aid me in my job, and not hinder me in my duties. That possibly is a first.”  
  
Harry had to admit that it was true; he usually sought out the presence of the other man, and only watched in silence as the other worked.  
  
He rarely spoke, and it was even more infrequent that Doctor Snape answered. It had been their routine ever since Harry had finagled his way into the hospital unit at the beginning of his career in the army. He had used his time to observe Snape’s meticulous preparation of bandages and mixing of oils and medicines while labelling the vials for later use. It was Harry’s peaceful haven in the middle of raging warfare. And until that very day, Harry had managed to convince himself that this whole struggle was not as horrible as he had feared.  
  
“I never knew it would be like this,” Harry announced out of the blue, “this...” He wasn’t even able to find the right words to describe the horrors of war.  
  
“Gory, filthy,” Snape helped him out resonantly, “repulsive?”  
  
Harry only nodded.  
  
“We lost more than two thousand British soldiers today, they say, and we will lose many more before this is over. Why are you here, Mr. Potter? I don’t understand, if you cannot find the beauty in fighting for your cause.” There was so much bitterness in his words, so much sarcasm.  
  
“Why are you?”  
  
“I am here to heal,” Snape replied. “It is a legitimate enough reason for my involvement, but what is yours?”  
  
“I told you earlier why I am here. After I had finished my schooling I couldn’t live with my guardian because of our disagreements. My entailed property and money, however small it may be, will only be available for me in three years’ time. I was a charity case for long enough, and I wanted to be the ruler of my own life. The army seemed to be a good option for me, which is why I volunteered.”  
  
“You are so young.” From Snape’s mouth it sounded like an insult.  
  
“I am not that young; I am eighteen!”  
  
“Yet you are here, feeling sorry for yourself because of the decisions you craved to make. You could have studied, or found yourself a job, but instead of those you have chosen to come here and kill. It is too late to complain about your sensitivities!”  
  
From his own point of view the man was right, of course. And Harry couldn’t explain how his uncle threw him out of his house, how he was a charity case at Hogwarts because his trust fund, established by his long-deceased parents, was only enough for the fee and the basic expenses for seven years. He couldn’t tell the man that he had used his last pounds to purchase his scarlet uniform in a desperate attempt to find his place in a world where, most of the time, Harry felt like a stranger. And most of all, he could not speak about wizardry, witchcraft or magic, without the other man believing him to be insane.  
  
“This conflict will come to a culmination soon,” Snape announced with absolute conviction, “and then we will be in dire need of dressings and bandages for the wounded. If you want to be of some use for a change, you may help me cut some linen up.”  
  
Harry did. They worked side by side until the wee hours of the next day, allowing Harry’s soul to be lulled by the tranquility found in the precise, well-choreographed movements of Doctor Snape’s hands.

 

  
**1821, Private Ball of the Parkinsons, London**  
  
Harry was standing in one of the half-hidden corners of the ballroom, watching over the gaudy crowd gathering in the room without any serious thoughts passing through his mind, when somebody stood next to him, interrupting his solitary musing. He turned toward the newcomer to see the agitated form of his longtime friend Hermione Granger.  
  
“Hermione! What has happened?”  
  
“I needed to get out of there for a while! I feel like a mule, paraded on the market, to be given to the highest bidder.”  
  
“Yes, I can see the similarity there...” Harry teased. “You have all the stubbornness characterizing a mule.”  
  
“You are not funny, Harry James Potter!” she reprimanded him, but her eyes were smiling.  
  
“Seriously, what happened?”  
  
“Lady Manners is what happened.”  
  
“I see.” Harry waited patiently for Hermione to go on.  
  
“I find her enthusiasm for this latest project of hers quite bothersome. It seems she wants to marry me off during this season, even if it kills me, to some _well-bred gentleman from a good family with a considerable fortune_ ,” she recited the words, which she had heard from Lady Manners at least a dozen times.  
  
“Isn’t that the future all girls are dreaming about?” Harry asked with a sad little smile.  
  
“Maybe it is, but I would like to marry for love instead of being marketed in these _most respectable circles of society_! Is it such an overly romantic and unreasonable request?” Hermione was so full of desperation, and Harry could easily connect to her misery. After all, he knew everything about not being able to marry the one you love.  
  
“Most of us will never be able to marry for love, but there are some who are lucky.” Harry’s eyes involuntary searched for Mr. and Mrs. Granger in the crowd, and when he found them, his lips curled up a little. “Like your parents.”  
  
Hermione’s gaze followed his own and then settled on her parents, standing together, their movements synchronized, their beings radiating love and contentment. She smiled fondly.  
  
“Father was always the black sheep in his family. The gentleman with a scandalous hands-on occupation! The man marrying under his rank, for _love_! And he still is the black sheep. Both of them are, really. The doctor who lets his wife assist him in his job! Everybody knows that Mother is almost as much of a physician as he is; only her certification is missing. It’s enough material for years of gossip and scandal!”  
  
“Yes, but I think it is worth it,” Harry added quietly.  
  
Hermione’s expression turned mischievous. “Father was not the only rebel in the family. Lady Manners was the loudest protester of Father’s marriage, but she herself had the most scandalous nuptials. Her late husband, the Baron, married her against family and rank. They had been cut off by the ton for years, Father said.” She sighed again as her thoughts wandered back to her ladyship.  
  
“I really don’t understand why she is doing all of this. She wasn’t in contact with Father for years, yet she invites us to live with her for the season, and suddenly she feels it is her duty to introduce me into fine society.”  
  
“Maybe she is lonely,” Harry offered. “Furthermore, her invitation is a merry coincidence for me and your father, as he can work in Guy’s Hospital during our stay, and I can finish my practice there, as well.”  
  
Hermione probably contemplated a very un-ladylike answer, but she thought better of it, and didn’t vocalize her opinion.  
  
“With this many exceptions to the rule in your family, you may be the next one who will marry by the choice of the heart,” Harry tried to encourage her. “You are exceptional already; you are a witch, Hermione. Your parents were proud of you, even if it was a shock for them. I can’t imagine that they won’t support you in any marriage you choose for yourself. You are extremely lucky. None of these girls in this room can tell the same thing about themselves.”  
  
“Gracious me! When did you get so collected and mature? If I remember correctly, that always has been my job!” Hermione asked with mock indignation, and Harry just laughed.  
  
It was true, of course; Hermione had always been the thoughtful and calm one in their friendship, ever since they had met at the age of eleven, when Hermione had been dragging her chaperone through the Hogwarts library and encountered Harry and Ron there.  
  
“Oh Lord, she is coming!” Hermione’s exclamation stopped his laugh abruptly. Indeed, the lady was a few steps away from them, accompanied by Doctor and Mrs. Granger. She must have been a beautiful woman once, yet she still had the kind of _presence_ very few women possess. Her tall and slender form, thick and shiny brown hair and intelligent blue eyes made many eyes turn after her still. Her gaze swept over Hermione and Harry disapprovingly.  
  
“You should socialize, child,” she addressed Hermione, “instead of hiding here in the corner. Mr. McLaggen expressed his intention to ask you for a dance.” Hermione’s face twitched. She really wasn’t keen on dancing with McLaggen. “You shouldn’t limit your companionship to... Mr. Potter.”  
  
The Dowager Baroness was polite, but her disapproval was clear. Harry knew that he wasn’t a catch, with his bespectacled face, unruly hair and modest property. Nothing spectacular, really. He himself thought that Hermione deserved better, although _better_ did not necessarily mean the same as in Lady Manners’ dictionary.  
  
The arrival of the host, Sir William Parkinson, saved Harry from further embarrassment, or so he thought until he saw the man on Sir William’s left.  
  
There stood Severus Snape: charming and polite, sweeping the ladies off their feet as he was introduced to them, leaving all members of the gathering awed by his manners, sophistication and elegance. Hermione was even blushing, for heaven’s sake!  
  
Harry was so caught up in his observations that he missed all the actual introductions until he heard his own name, spoken by Parkinson.  
  
“... Mr. Potter I don’t have to present, as you two are already acquainted.”  
  
Doctor Snape gave Harry the faintest nod.  
  
“Good to see you again, sir,” Harry greeted the man.  
  
“Likewise.” Snape’s voice was anything but pleased, his attention turning from Harry immediately.  
  
“Is it your intention to settle down in Great Britain, Doctor Snape?” asked Mrs. Granger kindly.  
  
“I am still undecided in the matter, but for now, for the duration of my lecturing at Guy’s, I will stay in the country, yes. About plans concerning the distant future I cannot make a statement yet.”  
  
“The students must be so excited to be able to benefit from your knowledge and practice!” Mr. Granger enthused.  
  
“I assume their excitement will die down with time, as I am nothing extraordinaire, just a physician.” Snape replied.  
  
Harry wanted to protest, but somebody preceded him.  
  
“Oh, but how can you say that, sir!” Mr. Granger objected. “After all the development you achieved in medical care on the battlefield! That ingenious system you invented for the rapid transport of the wounded!”  
  
“That was all Monsieur Larrey’s doing, I am afraid. I only borrowed his tried and tested idea,” Snape countered immediately.  
  
“Such a shame that the credit must be given to a Frenchman!” Lady Manners lamented.  
  
“Is it true, sir, that you treated everyone, regardless of their rank or nationality, even the French?” Hermione enquired curiously. She was never one to let an opportunity for gaining knowledge slip.  
  
“Yes, Miss Granger, it is indeed true.”  
  
“How egregious!” Lady Manners announced.  
  
“For a physician, it is the human life under the different uniforms which matters, my lady.”  
  
“And you met our Mr. Potter in the army as well, didn’t you?” Mrs. Granger asked, probably seeking a less serious topic.  
  
Harry wasn’t happy with the scrutiny given to him by everybody but Doctor Snape after the question.  
  
“Yes, we got acquainted with each other in the army,” Snape answered with an almost untraceable reluctance. “But I think war is not a topic suitable for the delicate ears of the ladies.” He closed the discussion and turned toward Hermione. “I think I hear the first tunes of a cotillion.” He bowed to Hermione as he asked, “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Granger?”  
  
Hermione blushed but agreed. The Grangers only smiled, and Lady Manners nodded approvingly as Hermione and Snape made their way to the dance floor. Harry felt like an idiot.  
  
The remainder of the evening was torture for Harry. At dinner, Lady Manners was escorted to the table on the arm of the host and Hermione on Snape’s. He was sitting with the two ladies, acting the perfect gentleman, serving them from the dishes within his reach and pouring them wine; meanwhile, Harry, at the other side of the table, was stuck with neighbours boring, silly or both.  
  
After dinner he hadn’t got a chance to talk to the Grangers, as they were otherwise occupied, so he retreated to his half-hidden corner and his woolgathering. He had one dance with Hermione, who was constantly singing Doctor Snape’s praises, with Harry agreeing in the rare and short intermissions which she used to breathe in some air before going on. Doctor Snape ignored him all evening.  
  
It was late at night, Hermione dancing her second set with Snape, when Harry sought some haven from the hot ballroom on the balcony. After some time Harry spent admiring the stars while relying on the rail, a shadow descended upon him. As he turned back, he found himself face to face with Snape. The man seemed surprised to find him there.  
  
“Excuse me, Mr. Potter, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you,” he apologized.  
  
“You didn’t! Disturb me, I mean! I didn’t do anything which could be disturbed by you... or by anybody else, really.” Why, oh why, was he always so clumsy in the company of this man? Harry felt a blush rising on his face.  
  
“How are you doing, Doctor Snape?”  
  
“Acceptable, thank you. And yourself?”  
  
“I am fine, thank you.”  
  
“It is my understanding that you have undertaken medical studies?”  
  
“Yes, sir; this is my last half year of hospital practice before receiving my license.”  
  
“And you apprenticed with Doctor Granger?”  
  
“I did. He is a talented teacher, and I learnt a lot from him. He took me in, after... I got back from the continent.”  
  
They stood in awkward silence for a while.  
  
“Er, I am surprised to see you on the marriage market, sir.” Now, _why_ did he say that?  
  
“Aren’t I eligible enough, or is it utterly unthinkable for you that I might find a spouse?” Snape asked angrily.  
  
“Not at all, sir. I just remember a time when you were fiercely against marriage.”  
  
“Is that so, Mr. Potter?” Snape sounded definitely dangerous.  
  
Harry raised his head and looked into the other’s eyes. “Yes, it is.”  
  
Their gazes connected and they got lost in their mutual staring, until the door leading to the balcony opened again. The moment shattered, breaking their locked gaze, startling them.  
  
“Times are changing, Mr. Potter!” Snape replied finally, and with a bow he excused himself and left. Harry didn’t see him again during the evening.  
  
Later in the carriage, on the way back home, Harry didn’t feel like participating in the discussion about the evening in general and Doctor Snape in particular. He felt exhausted and somehow... jaded. Nevertheless Lady Manners’ prediction caught his attention.  
  
“As you were the only young lady with whom Doctor Snape danced two sets, Hermione, my child, we might rightfully expect continued acquaintance with him.”  
  
Splendid. Harry closed his eyes with a groan and tried not to hear anything else for the night.

 

**17th June, 1815, Mont Saint-Jean, Belgium**  
  
The newly established camp of Wellington’s army was in an ideal place, on a ridge just south of the village of Waterloo. The ridge had a slight reverse slope behind which the troops could shelter, and almost the whole area was protected by the surrounding woods and the three neighbouring settlements. It was a very good choice for the next day’s impending battle, but there was nothing to protect Harry from the pouring rain, which soaked him – and everybody else – to the bone.  
  
It had taken almost the whole day to move the required eight miles from their previous position and settle down here; meanwhile, the whole regiment, with all their animals, weapons and supplies, were exposed to the unforgiving weather.  
  
While everybody tried – unsuccessfully – to find a dry place to sleep for the night, Harry took his usual evening walk to seek out the chief surgeon’s company.  
  
Harry found him at his customary place, in the field hospital, preparing his devices with his usual confident, elegant movements. Harry was instantly mesmerized, and calmed by the man’s meticulousness.  
  
“How may I assist you on this fine evening, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked after a while, without lifting his eyes from his task.  
  
“I hoped to find some peace here,” Harry confessed.  
  
“Peace? Quite an odd objective for the eve of a significant battle.” His hands never once failed in their rhythm.  
  
Harry just shrugged. “This place always calms me.”  
  
“Indeed?”  
  
“Or maybe it’s not the place, but the company.”  
  
This finally lured Snape’s attention away from his work, and he looked up. “That, Mr. Potter, seems highly improbable.”  
  
“I was thinking about our discussion last night...”  
  
“Good gracious, and you are still among the living!”  
  
Harry tried to ignore the other man’s humour, although his mouth twitched a little. “As I was saying, I was thinking about my choice, and I don’t want to kill.”  
  
“It is a dilemma which is very difficult to solve in our current situation,” Snape reflected in full honesty.  
  
“Yes, I know, but I may assist you...” Harry’s voice was full of hope.  
  
“I don’t believe that you possess the required medical training or knowledge, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“That is true, but I would do anything, really...” Harry wanted this so desperately.  
  
Snape seemed to be considering.  
  
“I intend to adapt an inspired idea by Monsieur Larrey tomorrow on the battlefield.”  
  
“The Emperor’s Surgeon? Isn’t he the enemy?” Harry interrupted.  
  
“He is a fellow physician, a man of witty solutions,” Snape explained impatiently. “I plan to establish a service to transport the injured from the battlefield as soon as possible. I shall use carriages with a crew consisting of a corpsman, a litter-bearer and a driver. The driver is not a sought-for position, due to the dangers of the task.” Snape stopped and gave Harry a measuring look. Harry didn’t dare to breathe.  
  
”Do you believe yourself capable of manoeuvring a carriage through a battlefield even in the middle of a raging fight?” the doctor asked finally.  
  
“Yes sir!” Harry declared confidently.  
  
Snape nodded. “You should ask your captain.”  
  
“I kind of did that already,” Harry admitted with a shy smile. “I applied for a transfer. I can be very persuasive. He will agree, provided that you will have me.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?” Snape shook his head. “In that case, I will see you at the break of the dawn, Mr. Potter.”  
  
“Yes sir!” Harry’s smile almost split his face into two. “Thank you!”  
  
After a confirming nod, Snape went back to his work.  
  
“May I help you, Doctor Snape?”  
  
“We shall need bandages. You know where the linen cupboard is.”  
  
Harry knew. They had worked side by side for a long time before Harry spoke again.  
  
“What would you like to do, after this is over? Will you return home? Settle down?”  
  
“Home? I’m not sure if I have a place to call home, Mr Potter.”  
  
“How is that possible?”  
  
Harry thought Snape wouldn’t answer; after all, it was a highly personal and impolite question.  
  
“I have always lived between two worlds. My mother was a Frenchwoman, Eileen Snape née Prince, my father an English nobleman. For the French I was too British, for the British I was always ‘ _le Prince de Sang-Mêlé_ ’, a half-blood. I belonged to neither.” Snape took a deep breath, as if fortifying himself to continue.  
  
“For the ton I wasn’t worthy enough, my bloodline sullied, and to crown all, a gentleman with a hands-on profession is not acceptable. For them, I am a ‘ _parvenu_ ’, just like Napoleon.”  
  
Harry was astonished by the contempt in the man’s voice.  
  
“For the French, I’m a nobleman’s son, the epitome of the despised British nobility.”  
  
Snape’s face was distorted by his hate and disdain. He was almost scary, like a vulture or a harpy, his sharp features accentuated by his scorn.  
  
“So, as you can see, Mr. Potter, I really don’t have a home to go back to after this conflict comes to a conclusion.” He finished almost resignedly, losing his previous frightening look.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that, Doctor Snape.” And he felt real compassion for the man. He had firsthand experience of being rootless, without a home.  
  
“Don’t be. I never really wanted to find a suitable, socially accepted spouse, settle down, have a family, come up to society’s expectations, and live one big, happy lie, while my wedding band burns my finger every damned day, heavy with guilt, shame and never-satisfied, constant hunger.”  
  
His bitterness was palpable in the air between them. Harry was overwhelmed by its sheer force.  
  
“I don’t understand...”  
  
“The better for you, Mr. Potter. If you are lucky, you never will.” With a shake of his head, Snape came out of his odd mood. “Enough of this! I may be a man without a country, but I still have my obligations.”  
  
“Why are you here, fighting a battle for a country you do not consider your motherland?” Harry wondered.  
  
“I told you already, I am here to heal.”  
  
“But why?” This man was an enigma for Harry.  
  
“I have many sins to atone for. Now it is time for you to leave, Mr. Potter,” he marched on, before Harry could pose any other question. “You will need your rest before the morrow comes.”  
  
Because Harry had sensed the man’s need to be alone, he left without a complaint. Snape’s words circulated in his head for many hours that night, as he tried in vain to sleep in the never-ending rain.

 

**1821, the townhouse of Margaret, Dowager Baroness Manners, London**  
  
Mr. Ronald Weasley visited them that afternoon, and Harry was so happy and most of all relieved to see him that he almost felt ashamed. His relief was a direct consequence of Hermione’s state of mind.  
  
She spent the whole day talking about Doctor Snape. She praised his perfect gentlemanlike behaviour, his flawless manners, his elegant posture, his wit, his skill on the dance floor, his confident walk and well-rounded education. And although Harry agreed on most of the points, and could have completed her list with the doctor’s razor sharp tongue, devoted professionalism and enigmatic personality, he did not. One dedicated admirer should be more than enough for the man, and it would be only one if he didn’t count Doctor Granger, Mrs. Granger and her ladyship as well, who spent more than enough time that day agreeing with Hermione.  
  
Yes, he loved Hermione like a sister, and he wanted her to be happy, but preferably not with Severus Snape. It was a hard and painful admission to make.  
  
Harry was also worried about Ron’s reaction, because the boy was very fond of Hermione, even if he never dared to propose to her. Harry had always thought, even when all three of them were young children, that one day his two best friends would be a couple.  
  
Ron came straight from the Leaky Cauldron’s public Floo, but they had to tell Lady Manners that he was visiting with his Great-aunt Muriel, who was sick, and Ronald would be staying with her while in London. Her ladyship could not have any objections, as the Weasleys were an old and respectable family even if they were without a tremendous fortune, so she let the trio be. Hermione’s mother chaperoned, as in reading her book and being as innocuous as possible, so they had a chance to speak freely with each other.  
  
Hermione gave an account of her previous evening to Ron, repeating her good impressions of Doctor Snape, but before she could become too enthusiastic, Harry intervened.  
  
“And how was the dance with Mr. McLaggen?” he asked mischievously.  
  
Harry, of course, had had the misfortune to witness their dance; it was torture, even from the sidelines. Hermione didn’t answer, but her pout told Ron everything he needed to know.  
  
“He must have been as gifted in the art of dancing as that mountain troll was in our first year. You surely remember its unquestionable skill, don’t you, Harry? ”  
  
Harry had difficulty not bursting out in laughter, but he bit down on his cheek and agreed, with a serious expression.  
  
“But of course, Ronald. That is an appropriate comparison, I believe.”  
  
Hermione’s pout became more pronounced with the mention of the troll, as it always was a sore point for her.  
  
“It is so unfair that I never had the chance to attend school full-time!” she cried. “You boys had the most splendid opportunities to experience the magical world, to learn about it, to be a part of it, to _live_ it! I might have lessons with the other girls, and some limited time in the library, but it is not even comparable to the amount of knowledge you were able to gain during your studies! I never had the chance to meet a historical being, and you two always remind me of that. Women should be given the same chance to learn as is given to men!” She finished her diatribe with a huff, just when Lady Manners, accompanied by Doctor Snape, stepped into the room.  
  
Hermione’s cheeks were still slightly rosy from her previous anger when all the pleasantries were said and everybody settled down. So were Harry’s, although for an entirely different reason, but nobody seemed to notice.  
  
“If I may inquire, what topic would make you so impassioned, Miss Granger?” Snape asked with a hint of amusement in his eyes.  
  
Hermione blushed more deeply, and Lady Manners’ disapproval was visible to anyone who saw her thunderous expression. No young lady should get this emotional.  
  
“We were discussing the education of women,” Hermione answered almost challengingly. She always was a brave soul.  
  
“Indeed? And what was your conclusion on the matter?” Snape was the epitome of politeness.  
  
Lady Manners started to open her mouth, possibly to suggest a change of topic, but Harry was quicker.  
  
“We did not have the time to come to a conclusion yet, although I think women should be given the chance to study, if they so desire,” Harry stated. Hermione seemed grateful, Ron sat a little back, as he was distancing himself from the topic, Mrs. Granger smiled, and whatever was Lady Manners’ reaction, Harry didn’t look to see. Snape seemed definitely amused.  
  
“Pray tell, Mr. Potter, what led you to this, may I say, progressive idea?” Snape’s face was polite interest personified, but his eyes told Harry that the doctor was enjoying himself.  
  
“In the course of my studies as a doctor’s apprentice I have met many women working alongside physicians who were exceptional in their area of expertise, no matter if it was healing, midwifery or apothecary skills, but their professionalism never had been officially recognised, even if it oftentimes outshone that of men.” At this point, he looked at Mrs. Granger and gave her a warm smile of appreciation and respect. “Furthermore, there are areas in healing where, for obvious reasons, a woman could navigate more successfully than a man—childbirth for example, or any illness concerning the ladies. And I was only talking about my area of interest, but there are several other areas of life where indubitably the same is true.” Harry finished his ardent speech with a blush which only grew with the deep silence descending on them.  
  
“Mr. Potter, while I appreciate the sentiment behind your words,” Lady Manners interrupted, “please do not forget that you are in the company of a young lady!”  
  
The lady’s eyes were hard sapphires, but deep in them was an almost imperceptible spark.  
  
Harry nodded. “Excuse me, my lady,” he said with a bow of his head.  
  
Snape didn’t ask any more questions, but Harry felt the doctor’s eyes penetrating his skin, analysing, dissecting him. Hermione gave him a proud and slightly watery smile, which Harry could not resist and reciprocated.  
  
“I propose we walk out to the park, Hermione, my dear,” Lady Manners suggested. “A young woman such as yourself should not be sitting inside all day, and I myself could benefit from a visit to the park, as well. Would you be so kind, Doctor Snape, as to walk with us?” she invited the man.  
  
Snape agreed, and in a short while they were ready to depart, one lady escorted on each of his arms. In the door the lady stepped away from them, and Snape stayed behind with Hermione, arm in arm.  
  
They were a charming couple: Snape’s angles to Hermione’s curls, his darkness to her light, his severity to her smiles. For Harry, they were hurtfully beautiful.  
  
Both Harry and Ron followed their retreat with a frown, although for different reasons.  
  
“Do not be too rush in your judgement on the lady’s character, gentlemen,” Mrs Granger said softly after the door had closed behind them. “Lady Manners wants what is best for Hermione. The two of them, Hermione and her ladyship: they are so alike in many things! And the lady never had children.” She sighed. “All who were against their marriage saw themselves justified when their union remained fruitless. Some thought the Baron should have asked for an annulment. He never did.”  
  
Ron fidgeted in his chair, as if it was uncomfortable for him to imagine the Baroness as a human being. But Harry felt deep compassion for her. And he was a bit jealous. The Baron loved her with such fierce emotion, which had been able to withstand several trials, disappointments and attacks. Harry wanted that for himself, as well.  
  
“I should feel ashamed for gossiping like this!” Mrs. Granger reprimanded herself. “I shall let you gentlemen converse in peace.” She excused herself and left the room.  
  
Harry loosened his cravat and positioned himself into a more comfortable position in the armchair, Ron mirroring his movements. After settling back, Ron chewed his lips for a few moments before he dared to verbalise the question which must have been bothering him for a while.  
  
“How long will he be staying in London, do you think?”  
  
“At least for the remainder of the semester, until July. He has all the lectures pre-scheduled.”  
  
“Is he really that good?” There was hope in his eyes at the possibility of receiving a negative answer.  
  
“The best. I can’t wait to learn from him,” Harry answered with a soft smile.  
  
Ron shook his head. “You know, Harry, I have never understood why you have chosen to become a Muggle doctor instead of a medi-wizard. “ He obviously thought this an odd choice.  
  
Harry sighed. He himself had contemplated the question many times.  
  
“I wanted to help as many people as possible. As a medi-wizard you are able to bend your magic to heal others, but mostly magical people. Did you know that you can kill a Muggle with magic, but you cannot heal them solely by magical means? The patients have to have their own magic to cooperate with the healer’s, otherwise it is not effective.”  
  
“Yes, I understand, but you could have chosen to heal magical folks only,” Ron insisted.  
  
“True, but they are—or I should say, we are—the minority. After I’ve learnt how to treat the ill and wounded the hard way, I can always learn the art of healing with sorcery,” he added, smiling.  
  
“And of course, somebody has to save them all.” Ron always thought that Harry took too much weight on his shoulders.  
  
There was silence for a while as both their minds wandered.  
  
“Would he make her happy?”  
  
Harry immediately knew whom the question referred to.  
  
“Their personalities have many similar traits, and they may find common ground effortlessly. They are well-matched, and may easily learn to respect each other,” Harry admitted with a sigh.  
  
“Do you think this scarecrow wants to marry Hermione? What does she see in him?” Ron asked Harry with soulful eyes. ”He is not even a wizard!” he protested, as a last effort.  
  
“He isn’t! A scarecrow I mean. And he has a perfect gentleman-like behaviour, flawless manners, an elegant posture,” Harry started reciting Hermione’s ode to the man, but Ron stopped him with a tortured groan.  
  
“Please, no more!”  
  
“And he IS a wizard, you know,” Harry added as an afterthought.  
  
“WHAT?” Ron jumped from the armchair. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”  
  
“I forgot?” It really had not had any importance during the recent happenings.  
  
“How could you forget such a _little_ detail?”  
  
“Ron, sarcasm does not suit you,” Harry teased his friend. “Although Hermione seems to appreciate it,” Harry announced, immediately sobered.  
  
Ron sank back into sitting position. “We are doomed,” he summarized.  
  
“Yes... we are.”  
  
They sat there for a few more minutes, both contemplating their own thoughts, before the visit ended and Ronald went home. Harry sought refuge in the library for the remainder of the afternoon.

 

**18th June, 1815, Waterloo, Belgium**  
  
This fateful day of history remained in Harry’s memories as an absolute chaotic and hectic jumble of colours, voices and smells.  
  
After a night of never-ceasing rain, the field was almost unapproachable by foot or horseback, and definitely by any carriage loaded with weapons or the injured. Both the British army and its allies on one side of the ridge, and the French on the other, came to a stalemate. They needed to wait.  
  
The waiting was agonizing for Harry, as he never was a patient creature. At the break of the day he met with the others in his unit at the field hospital, and together they waited for something to happen. As the whole regiment was soaked last night, it was a chilling and very slow morning. The air was heavily charged with the smell of gunpowder as the troops discharged thousands of their guns. The noise was deafening, causing a constant headache for Harry.  
  
Over the rattle of firearms, the never-ending shouts of ‘ _Vive l’Emepereur_ ’ floated back from behind the hill. The ethereal roaring of the enemy sounded like it was coming from the very earth beneath their feet, as if it was ready to swallow them all. It was scary, and made them all the more nervous, humans and animals alike, except perhaps one of them. Snape was as calm and collected as ever, taking care of his supplies, and giving last minute orders, as if it didn’t matter to him if he lived or died. The doctor’s indifference only increased Harry’s own anxiety.  
  
In his desperate attempt to occupy himself, Harry tried to find a fitting name for the two horses that were harnessed to the carriage Harry was supposed to drive. In the end he gave them flower names, because he craved something normal in the madness and he thought all three of them could appreciate those names. He christened the two oblivious animals Poppy and Pansy. His overwrought mind came up with the stupidest rhetorical flourishes, such as Poppy and Pansy: Potter’s Pallbearer Pals. The other soldiers were laughing at his attempts to lighten the mood and were grateful for his efforts. Doctor Snape, however, wasn’t amused. Not at all.  
  
It wasn’t until midday that all hell broke loose.  
  
Ten thousand men from both sides of the battlefield ran at each other in a frenzy, leaving their humanity behind, killing, maiming, and hurting anybody who was dressed in the enemy’s colours. All the troops were moving together, not like the thousands of living, breathing, thinking and—most important—feeling individuals they usually were, but like one bloodthirsty beast, ready for destruction.  
  
Harry needed to navigate his carriage through this madness, collecting the fallen and the wounded from the field. He felt as though he was navigating a broom among a horde of fire-breathing dragons, always _just_ a hair’s breadth between him and his imminent death. He was sure that at least a dozen times only his magic protected him from landing on the wrong side of a gun barrel. A bullet even brushed his shoulder, singeing his clothes and scraping his skin. But he urged his horses on, trying to find a path in this agitated ocean of vicious fighting. The tiny valley was too little to be able to hold such a gargantuan struggle, so Harry often felt as if he was floating on the waves provided by the throng of people, all of them pressed together.  
  
And the battle went on. Harry had driven the path between the field hospital and the battlefield at least a hundred times, in a desperate attempt to keep up with the rapid falling of more and more fighters, transporting as many of them from the field, under the hooves and boots of the opposing armies, as he could. But it wasn’t enough. By late afternoon, both sides were so tired that the French cavalry attack was delivered almost at a walk. Mud and blood covered everything and everyone, bodies lay everywhere. The air hung with a pall of black from gunpowder discharge, irritating the eyes, making them red and tearful.  
  
In the cacophony of clashing, suffering and dying only the distant sounds of the drumming and bugling let the fighters know what was happening.  
  
In this hell one thing made Harry go on, leading him back to the middle of this unimaginable horror again and again: Doctor Snape’s unwavering strength, his never-diminishing will to save lives. For hours, on and on, he was there: operating, classifying the severity of injuries, bandaging, ordering, and helping to unload the carriages.  
  
Harry was so tired his every muscle ached, his arms felt like they were ready to be ripped from his body, but he went on, he knew he must, and then abruptly his world crashed down around him.  
  
Harry was dragging a young soldier with a stomach wound into one of the medical tents when he saw the light. He had only seen it once, when his parents were killed by highwaymen, but he would have recognised it anywhere. It was singed into his soul, carved into his nightmares. The green of the killing curse surrounding a young British soldier in the corner, his upper body covered by blood, flowing from the wound on his chest, meanwhile illuminating an oh-so-well-known face before fading away with the last breath of the soldier. Nobody witnessed it but Harry, as the wand delivering the curse was hidden in the sleeve of the man who uttered the words to take a life. Harry did not, could not, hear them but he knew what Severus Snape must have said to murder that young man.  
  
Harry was dumbstruck only for a blink of an eye before unprecedented anger flowed through his whole being.  
  
“You dared to tell me that you are here to heal, not to kill, you bastard!” he shrieked, still struggling to hold upright the body of the injured young soldier while simultaneously trying to find his own wand in the hidden pocket of his jacket.  
  
Snape immediately turned back to Harry with a haunted look in his eyes, then stepped next to him raising his arm to help Harry with his burden, but Harry turned from him, shielding the injured youth in his arms with his own body.  
  
“Don’t you dare touch him, you murderer!”  
  
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Snape exclaimed, and dragged both Harry and the injured man towards the nearest camp bed, effectively catching Harry off balance, thus forcing him to deposit his cargo on the bed. Snape thrust him away and started to examine the wound on the man’s stomach.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Harry seethed after he’d finally pulled out his wand from his pocket, aiming it at Snape, who didn’t bat an eyelid. Instead the doctor tried to eliminate the blood from the patient’s horrible stomach wound.  
  
“I am doing my job,” he barked at Harry. “Give me a clean flannel from the table,” he ordered, and Harry, although not exactly consciously, obeyed.  
  
“But y-you’re,” Harry stuttered, “a wizard, and you killed a…”  
  
“Mr. Potter,” Snape snarled at him, not looking up from his task, his hands never once hesitating. “We have to save lives here. There is no room for shock or ill-timed sensitivities or your histrionics. Cease this at once, and get back to your duty!” His authority demanded obedience.  
  
“Duty, you say!” Harry shouted, scandalized. “You have just killed someone!”  
  
“Someone who would have died a long, agonizing death otherwise! He was stabbed in the heart with a bayonet. There was no way I could have saved him. Should I have let him suffer?”  
  
Harry was so confused. “But you used magic…”  
  
“Which is not effective on Muggles for healing, as you should know by now! There was no other way, Potter!”  
  
“Why…”  
  
“LATER!” Snape roared at him; meanwhile, he frantically tried to close the wound on the injured man’s torso. At last a corpsman turned up from outside; he stepped next to Snape and helped him in his desperate effort to cover the wound and stop the bleeding, cutting off any further protest on Harry’s part. He stood there for a few more seconds, watching Snape’s ministrations in a daze: Snape’s slim fingers covered in blood, his tall form bent over the sickbed, an expression of sheer concentration on his face. Then, with a fierce nod, he turned on his heel and got back to the cart, his crew already waiting for him. He rode back to the field with a new determination.  
  
It was ten in the evening when the battle ended. By then even the last shouts of, ‘ _La Garde Recule_ ,’ had died down. The Allies won, the French retreated, leaving thousands of corpses and wounded warriors behind. It was too dark to try to travel the field by cart; the risk of riding over someone’s neck was too great. Soldiers with torches were searching on the blackened field for friends, brothers, comrades. For anybody who was still alive.  
  
The bone-weary troops were getting ready to settle down for one more night, this time on a hillside soaked not by the rain, but by blood.  
  
Harry wanted nothing else but to collapse and stay unconscious for a week, but he needed to make one more trip to the hospital unit. As he stepped into the biggest tent, Snape’s usual place of residence, the hot, humid air, and the penetrating smell of death slapped him in the face. Suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the day, he hurried outside, bent over as his stomach clenched, and vomited at the foot of the tent’s canvas wall.  
  
Just when his stomach had nothing else to give, and his heaving seemed to ease as well, he became aware of the other pair of shoes standing next to his. A hand, graceful, self-assured and clean, held out a damp towel for Harry. Harry accepted the offered flannel along with the unspoken words from Severus Snape.

 

**1821, Guy’s Hospital, London**  
  
“…and I hope to see you all, very soon.”  
  
“Anything else, Mr. Joseph?”  
  
“Yes. Please write her that I miss her and little Georgie, Doctor Potter.”  
  
“I am not a doctor yet, Mr. Joseph, just an apprentice,” Harry protested, while he dutifully added the requested line to the letter.  
  
“Aye, but that’s a real shame with all the work you are doing here, Doctor Potter!” Mr. Joseph, lying in the hospital bed, added.  
  
“Be that as it may, I still have six months of practical before I shall become a doctor. Now, if you wish nothing else to be added to the letter, I shall take care of its delivery to Mrs. Joseph.”  
  
“Thank you, Doc…” Mr. Joseph started to say, but an intense bout of coughing stopped him from finishing his sentence.  
  
Harry stood up from his chair next to the bed, helped the man to sit up, and gave him a glass of water from the bedside cabinet. After several minutes of gasping for air, the man’s coughing finally quieted down and he settled back into the hospital bed, obviously worn out. Harry gently wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with a towel.  
  
“Rest now, Mr. Joseph, while I take your letter to the post-master,” Harry advised the man, who could only nod weakly in response.  
  
Harry gathered the writing tools and had turned around to leave the room when he saw the two men watching him from the doorway.  
  
“Good afternoon, Harry,” Doctor Granger greeted him. “Doctor Snape and I are on our way to a meeting with the Court of Committees, but I suggested a tour of the hospital first.” Harry wondered how long had they been standing there.  
  
“Good afternoon, Doctor Granger, Doctor Snape.” Harry uttered his own greetings, forcing his eyes not to wander towards Snape for too long.  
  
“Mr. Potter,” Snape acknowledged him with polite indifference.  
  
Together they stepped out into the semi-dark foyer of the hospital.  
  
“I was just telling Doctor Snape that our institute specializes in the incurable cases discharged from other hospitals.” Just then another apprentice approached Doctor Granger and he excused himself, leaving Harry alone with Doctor Snape.  
  
“I didn’t know that you had taken an apprenticeship to become a clerk here, Mr. Potter,” the man mocked Harry, gesturing toward the letter written a few minutes ago.  
  
“I did not. I want to help the patients any way I can. There is nothing else to be done for Mr. Joseph here but to assist him in composing a letter for his loved ones. It is not a burden for me. Most of the cases here are hopeless, but with a kind word, a chance to ventilate their fears, I may help.”  
  
“Considering the bleeding of his lungs, he will be dead in a few days,” Snape calculated, coldly regarding Mr. Joseph.  
  
“Yes, he possibly will, but he got a chance to send words of love to his family.”  
  
“You are a romantic, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry laughed softly at the reply; Snape was taken aback by his reaction.  
  
“Probably true, Ron always says the same.”  
  
“Ron?” Snape asked with a frown.  
  
“Ronald Weasley, my best friend,” Harry clarified.  
  
“The redheaded gentleman I met the other day. He is the sixth son of a certain Mr. Arthur Weasley from Ottery St. Catchpole, if I remember correctly. Lady Manners mentioned him briefly. She sympathized with him over his sad position of being sixth in the family’s precedence line.”  
  
“He probably won’t inherit from his father, but he is a resourceful person, so her ladyship shouldn’t worry about his success in life!” Harry defended his friend vehemently.  
  
“Is that so? Pray tell, what ingenious occupation will ensure his prosperity in life?” Snape asked, his smooth tone filled with sarcasm.  
  
The question, instead of angering Harry, prompted him to grin.  
  
“Actually, he and his twin brothers are on the edge of marketing a product which will revolutionize what we previously thought about chocolate!” Harry announced mischievously the slogan for the Weasleys’ new treat.  
  
“Indeed? You make me curious, Mr. Potter. What is this mysterious novelty?”  
  
Harry chuckled. “It’s a treat for Wizarding children. It will be an animated chocolate animal, whether a frog or a snail is not decided yet.”  
  
“Good gracious, who would want to ingest something like that?” Snape was evidently repulsed by the very idea, but there was a hint of playfulness in his dark gaze.  
  
“You might be surprised!” Harry answered with enthusiasm.  
  
“I certainly doubt it,” Snape announced with absolute certainty.  
  
“We shall see. They may outshine us all in their success,” Harry predicted merrily, enjoying their moment of cheerfulness.  
  
The happy bubble of their light-hearted discussion was broken by the return of Doctor Granger.  
  
“Excuse me for the interruption,” he apologized, but both Snape and Harry assured him it was no inconvenience. “Harry, would you accompany us on our way to the court?” Doctor Granger asked, and after Harry agreed, they departed together.  
  
“Before we met with you in the ward, I tried to convince Doctor Snape to consider a permanent position in Guy’s Hospital,” Doctor Granger restarted the conversation.  
  
“Oh.” Harry wasn’t sure how to react. A part of him rejoiced, but another part of him dreaded the possibility that he might see the man more frequently.  
  
“I mentioned that the court is looking for a new director for the hospital. I am sure that they couldn’t find a better candidate than Doctor Snape.”  
  
“Are you persuadable, Doctor Snape?” Harry asked the man.  
  
“I am sure that the court is looking for someone with a higher social ranking than mine; surely they would prefer a gentleman who’d attended a prestigious university as opposed to somebody who learned his profession the mundane way, sullying his hands in the process,” argued Snape.  
  
“The hospital could only benefit from your experience!” Doctor Granger tried to convince him. “Besides,” he continued, “a prestigious and gentlemanly education is no guarantee of competence in one’s profession; neither is it a consolation for a lack of expertise.”  
  
Harry snorted while Snape gave a malicious smile.  
  
“That is indeed true, Doctor Granger. In some cases, I strongly suspect my colleagues kill their patients with their incompetence solely for the sake of being on familiar territory with them. They have never seen a living, breathing patient during all of their prestigious studies, only on illustrations and in the form of some unfortunate ungulates.” Both Harry and Doctor Granger chuckled at his words.  
  
“It is not my intention to pressure you, sir, but I hope you would consider the possibility,” Doctor Granger offered, and Snape accepted with a nod.  
  
At the end of the corridor they said their goodbyes and went on their separate ways. Harry needed to hurry up if he wanted to catch the post-master in time to have Mr. Joseph’s letter delivered.

 

**19th June, Waterloo, Belgium**  
  
It was in the pre-dawn hours of the next day when the hospital unit finally became mostly empty. The majority of its earlier occupants were either transported or dead. After emptying his stomach, Harry had collapsed into one of the corners and had stayed there since then. His body ached, his shoulder burned, and his mind was absolutely numb. He knew that it would not stay like this, that the events of the previous day would catch up with him, and that he couldn’t hide from them forever, but he was not ready to face them yet. So instead he found his equilibrium in his nightly routine of visiting the field hospital and watching Snape. Many things had happened that day that should have robbed Harry of this one piece of tranquility, but they hadn’t. The mere presence of the man was still able to soothe the pain, the thunder roaring under the surface, even after what the man did. After he… But no, Harry shouldn’t have thought about _that_.  
  
When everybody else was gone, Snape knelt down next to Harry.  
  
“You are injured. Let me see the wound,” the doctor said.  
  
“It’s nothing, just a scratch,” Harry protested, although his shoulder burned.  
  
“Nonsense. Take off your coat,” Snape ordered, and as Harry didn’t have the strength to defy him, he obeyed, and took off his coat and shirt.  
  
Snape treated his injury with his usual scrupulous care. Somehow, implemented on Harry’s own body, it was much less pacifying. For instead of calming him, the soft touches electrified Harry, and made his skin spark and prickle. When he looked at his shoulder, all traces of the previous wound but a zigzagged silver line of a faint scar were gone.  
  
“So you are a wizard,” Harry concluded.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But you said your parents were…” he trailed off. Snape didn’t exactly say that they weren’t wizards.  
  
“My mother, as I said earlier, was a Frenchwoman, my father a British nobleman. She was a witch, he a Muggle. I still was a half-blood, not only in one but in two worlds. The magical world is just as divided as the Muggle one, if not more. My blood wasn’t pure enough for them, either. I am as much homeless there as I am here.”  
  
Snape signed with a wave of his hand that he was finished and Harry clothed up. Snape got up from his position next to Harry on the floor and went to the medicine cupboard to gather a bottle of amber liquid and two glasses. He settled back on the ground and poured a generous amount of liquid into both glasses.  
  
“The finest French brandy. Probably wasted on us, given our current state, but nevertheless,” he saluted with his glass, “to the fallen!”  
  
Harry raised his own glass. “To the fallen!” Both sloshed back their brandy in one go. Snape refilled the glasses and they repeated the process, this time with no toasts.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the feeling of warmth spreading through their bodies.  
  
“Couldn’t he be saved?” Harry asked after a while. Snape lifted his gaze, looking into Harry’s eyes, searching for something. He probably found it, because he answered.  
  
“No.”  
  
“He would have suffered.” This time it was not a question, but Snape answered nonetheless.  
  
“Terribly.”  
  
Harry nodded and held his glass out for another round. Snape obeyed without a complaint, filling his own glass as well. They quaffed it just as quickly as the first two.  
  
It was after they had sat in silence for long enough, drinking one or two more glasses of brandy, their bodies becoming thoroughly numb, that something stirred in Harry’s chest. His demons, usually guarded safely, suddenly came to life, the alcohol, like a red rag, making them restless and agitated. Once they were awakened there was no way to silence them again, as they were demanding, craving, and desiring something forbidden, something almost unthinkable. They were dangerous and merciless.  
  
“I know now what you meant by the ring thing,” they made Harry say.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“What you said about living a lie, with a ring burning your finger with insatiable hunger,” Harry clarified.  
  
Snape went still; the silence between them became oppressive.  
  
“You are a sinner,” Harry whispered. “A sodomite.” His face flamed as he softly breathed the word. The monsters inside him urged him on.  
  
Snape’s mouth curled into a cruel smile.  
  
“What would you know about sin, Mr. Potter?” Snape taunted him, and the beasts within Harry couldn’t let him.  
  
“Enough,” he said, and launched forward, capturing Snape’s mouth with his own. The demons wanted Harry to own, to claim, to conquer. Harry devoured that mouth, greedily sucked the lower lip, biting down on it, drawing blood, and swallowing it down like the nectar it was. He grabbed a fistful of black hair to get closer, and obviously Snape wanted the same, because a tongue was battling his own, strong arms were pulling him closer, and Harry went willingly, seeking the other body’s warmth and hardness, nestling into it, as if he was finally at home. It was more like a battle than a kiss. It was like war itself: rushed, surreal, tainted with darkness, pain and all-consuming heat. It demanded surrender, and Harry obeyed.  
  
Then Harry moaned, and Snape breathed a name into his mouth: “Regulus.”  
  
Suddenly everything ceased to exist. There were no demons any more, no heat, no home, no battle, no kiss of war. Nothing. Harry recoiled, jumping up from Snape’s lap.  
  
“What did you say?” he whispered.  
  
No answer came.  
  
“What in the thrice-damned hell did you just call me?” By the end of the question he was shouting.  
  
Snape was still sitting on the ground, eyes downcast. With a sigh, he raised his face to be able to look into Harry’s eyes.  
  
“Regulus,” he said calmly. “I called you Regulus.”  
  
The world shattered around Harry, pulling him apart, ripping him into pieces. The blow filled him with sharp pain, stole his breath, and made him stagger.  
  
“Oh Lord,” Harry panted, struggling for breath. “Heaven almighty!” He needed to flee, to get away, to find some air, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, because most of all, he needed to know. He paced like an agitated animal in its cage for a while before he was able to speak again. Snape waited him out, still sitting on the floor, face rigid, body motionless.  
  
“Who… Who is Regulus?” Harry asked finally, the unfamiliar name burning his tongue with acid-like emotions.  
  
Snape sighed and looked up at him.  
  
“Sit back down, as I won’t have this conversation while you are towering over me.” The doctor’s voice was flat, completely devoid of any emotions.  
  
Harry sat down, although he kept a greater distance between himself and Snape than previously. He raised his head high and looked expectantly at Snape.  
  
“Regulus Black was my lover,” Snape began, without a trace of shame or hesitancy, as if he had steeled himself for whatever might come. “He was vivacious, kind and beautiful. We shared a passionate relationship. On one occasion I was careless and we were seen by somebody in a compromising situation, sharing a kiss. Regulus was recognised, but not me. The culprit blackmailed him, saying he would tell Regulus’s family, reporting him for unnatural crimes, and his fate was certain hanging. His family had so many expectations of him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of their disappointment. He was afraid of the scandal, the repercussions, and the reactions. It took only one bullet to the heart to avoid all of them. Regulus set it up as if it was a duel, a matter of honour. Everybody knew the truth of his death by his own hand, but nobody spoke about it. He never again was mentioned in well-bred society.” His voice had never once wavered through his tale until that point. “Every day I wish he had chosen a lifetime of self-deception, a ring heavily absorbed in lies, instead of taking his own life.”  
  
Neither spoke for a while. It was Snape who broke the silence again.  
  
“As you can see now, you were right, Mr. Potter. I am a sinner. My whole life is atonement for my greatest crime, but it never will be enough. I can’t save enough lives to make up for the one I let waste away,” Snape finished with absolute conviction. Harry’s heart ached for the man. He wanted to hold him, console him, so he crawled closer to him, almost touching him. He hesitantly held out his arms and, surprisingly, Snape accepted the offered embrace, pulling Harry close, holding him almost fiercely in his arms.  
  
“Did you love him?” Harry whispered into Snape’s hair.  
  
“I did. I always will do.”  
  
Harry struggled to keep the pain at bay, snuggling even closer to Snape. The man embedded his nose into the crook of Harry’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply.  
  
“I’m not him, you know,” Harry told him, tears flowing down his cheeks.  
  
“No, you are nothing like him,” Snape breathed.  
  
Oh Lord, how Harry’s heart hurt! It was broken into a million pieces, never to be mended again. No stabbing in the chest could have been more painful than this.  
  
“I think I’m in…” Harry began, but Snape abruptly shoved him away, so he fell back and was sprawled on the ground.  
  
“NO,” Snape roared, his demeanour almost feral. “I can’t give you anything! I have nothing to give; go away! GO!” he yelled, and Harry crawled back from him, struggling to get up.  
  
“Get the hell out of here!” Snape hissed, his earlier hot anger turning into icy fury. “Just go!”  
  
Harry, broken and hopeless, went.

 

**1821, townhouse of the Dowager Baroness Manners, London**  
  
The dinner given by Lady Manners was one of the most prominent events of the season. Everybody who was currently in London seemed to know the intimate details of the evening: the list of those who were invited, the outfits they most likely would wear, the foods to be served, the most likely arrangements at the table, and of course all the gossip that ever had circulated around about each and every one of the guests.  
  
Harry hated the whole thing. As weeks passed by, he became more and more depressed. He and Doctor Snape were like awkward strangers. Snape mostly ignored him, and even their almost friendly bantering, which still happened occasionally, saddened Harry further because it reminded him of their carefree teasing during the war, which he knew would never return.  
  
Doctor Granger kept up his campaign to convince Doctor Snape about undertaking a position in Guy’s and applying for the position of director. Snape was still undecided, but Doctor Granger’s enthusiasm was enough to set the grapevine in motion. Half of London was speculating about the benefits and disadvantages of Snape becoming Director of Hospital, even if the man never once formulated a wish to apply for the position. The gossip evidently reached the ears of Doctor McLaggen, the ambitious young physician who had hoped to win the position for himself. His influential uncle, Sir Tiberius McLaggen, supported his plans wholeheartedly. Doctor McLaggen was hostile and jealous of Doctor Snape and their one-sided rivalry was getting out of hand. McLaggen made sure to tarnish Snape’s reputation wherever he went. It seemingly didn’t affect Snape, but Harry was angry nonetheless.  
  
It didn’t enhance Harry’s mood one bit that in the last few weeks Hermione and Doctor Snape had been getting along splendidly, sharing long walks and conversations—to the delight of Lady Manners and the Grangers, and to the dismay of Ron and Harry, with latter battling his shame that he couldn’t be happy for his friend.  
  
Taking all of these factors into account, it wasn’t a surprise that Harry was in a horrible mood when the night of the dinner finally arrived. During the whole evening he occupied the darkest corner of the salon. Both McLaggen and Doctor Snape were in attendance, so Harry could divide his dark gazes between Hermione and Snape conversing on the other side of the room, and McLaggen, currently speaking with the hostess.  
  
The one good thing in the whole wretched evening was Ron’s attendance; he was invited by Lady Manners after Hermione had expressed her wish to see him at the dinner. Harry believed both Hermione’s request and the lady’s willingness to be good signs. With a sigh, he turned his gaze away from his current targets, Hermione and Snape, towards his approaching best friend.  
  
Ron greeted him with a slap on his back and a friendly smile. The redhead’s attention immediately turned towards Hermione, and Harry needed to force himself not to follow his lead.  
  
“Why don’t you propose to her?” Harry blurted out the question that had been on his mind for weeks.  
  
Ron reddened with embarrassment. “I haven’t got the means yet to give her what she deserves,” he replied with practiced ease. Probably he had asked himself the question more than once. “And Lady Manners more than likely will be against it,” he added.  
  
“Does it really matter?”  
  
“I guess so,” Ron mumbled.  
  
“Anyway, it is not for her ladyship to decide. If Hermione chooses you, Lady Manners will come to terms with it, sooner or later. She defied expectations once; now it is your and Hermione’s turn.”  
  
Ron nodded, his lips set in a straight line.  
  
“Why don’t _you_ even try to find a spouse?” It was Ron’s turn to ask.  
  
“I have nothing to give.”  
  
Ron snorted. “You have _plenty_ of things to offer,” he contradicted him.  
  
“But not my heart, it wouldn’t be fair.” Harry’s eyes, absolutely of their own volition, sought Snape out once again. He was closer than Harry had thought, lurking in the shadows only a few paces away from where they stood. Harry ripped his wandering gaze away.  
  
Holy heavens, he was pathetic! Harry needed to get out of there immediately.  
  
Giving some hasty explanation about the need for fresh air, he left the room and headed out of the house. It didn’t really matter where, he just wanted to get out. He hurried down the street, breathing in deeply the late-night spring air. The street seemed to be deserted; the gas lamps lent dim, slightly wavering spots of light to the otherwise pitch-black street. After a few more calming breaths, Harry felt like a reasonable being again. It needed to stop, this unhealthy obsession with Doctor Snape. Maybe Harry should transfer to another hospital? Or…  
  
“Mr. Potter,” a dark, velvet voice halted his pondering. “Why are you prowling the streets all alone in the middle of the night?”  
  
Harry turned towards the man standing a few steps away from him.  
  
“I just wanted some fresh air. But what is your reason for this late-night excursion?”  
  
“I witnessed your rushed retreat and wondered if my professional skills were needed.”  
  
“No, thank you, sir, there is no medical emergency. You can make your way back to the house without a concern for my wellbeing.”  
  
Snape hesitated for a split second. “I couldn’t help but overhear your statement given to Mr. Weasley previously.”  
  
“You were eavesdropping on us?” Harry asked outraged.  
  
“It was a public function where you uttered your words, Mr. Potter, thus unintentionally becoming aware of them can hardly be considered eavesdropping,” Snape reasoned in his most irritating style.  
  
Harry didn’t deign to answer this.  
  
“So, is it true?” Snape insisted.  
  
“Is what true, Doctor Snape?” Harry was so tired of all of their games.  
  
“Your ridiculous and overly dramatic notion about being unable to commit yourself to a spouse!”  
  
“Yes,” Harry replied simply. Snape seethed, but Harry forestalled any interruption on his part. “I tried, you know. To forget you. I even visited one of those places. You know, a molly-house. A place for the likes of… you know. Sinners.”  
  
“I am well aware of what kind of institutions those are,” Snape hissed. The casing of the nearby gas lamp started to tremble. “Were you out of your bloody mind? What were you thinking? Of course, you weren’t!” The flame above their heads fluttered violently. “If caught, you would have been hanged! Those are the meeting points for all the filth of society! You could have been robbed or blackmailed or killed! Have you lost your remaining sense as well?” With a last rattle the streetlamp shattered, unable to withstand Snape’s angry magic any more, plunging them into darkness.  
  
“What if I had? What concern is that for you? Why does it matter suddenly?” Harry shouted back, losing his every resolve.  
  
“Now listen to me, you obnoxious little…”  
  
“Ahem.” Somebody cleared their throat, effectively preventing their further yelling at each other. Both of them looked up and saw two police officers approaching.  
  
“Is either of you one Mr. Severus Snape?” one of the policemen asked. Meanwhile the other – obviously puzzled – examined the remains of the lamp-casing.  
  
Snape straightened his back, displaying his imposing height.  
  
“Yes, I am _Doctor_ Severus Snape,” he emphasized his title.  
  
“In that case, you must come with us. You are under arrest for unnatural crimes, sir!” the first officer declared, and both of them started towards Snape.  
  
“What?” Harry exploded.  
  
“What kind of proof you can present against me?” Snape, of course, was able to preserve his cool façade.  
  
“You were accused by a witness of respectable standing and reliability,” the policeman retorted, clearly losing his patience. “He was an unfortunate witness to this egregious act.” His disgust and contempt were clear to anyone.  
  
The thought of Snape and somebody else made Harry stagger, but still, he had to do something. He had his wand with him; it was in the inner pocket of his coat. Both officers were standing only two steps away from Snape. Without thinking further, he stepped between Snape and the two policemen and whispered a wandless _Confundo_. In this close proximity to his wand, and his targets as well, it must be effective enough.  
  
“I am the one you are looking for,” Harry announced to the bewildered officers. “The witness had mistaken Doctor Snape for me. Black hair, slender build. You should take me in his stead.” The officers nodded their agreement and stepped closer. “I shall be escorted without a scene.”  
  
The three of them walked away quietly, the lack of light from the shattered lamp concealing their departure from any prying eyes, leaving an astonished Snape behind.

 

**22nd June, 1815, Brussels, Belgium**  
  
The city of Brussels was as lively and beautiful as ever, no mark of the recent events marring its picturesque surface. It was like a debutante before her first ball, dressed in white lace, cheeks rosy with excitement, and eyes sparkling with the promise of love to come. Her beauty and innocence were mocking the surrounding world for its bitterness and severity. Brussels was just like her. Seeing its pretty face, nobody would believe that anything as nightmarish as the last few days could ever have happened.  
  
The beast of war crawled back to its lair, but all the devastation remained behind with the scent of rotting and decay entrenched into the valley. It took three days to pick up all the corpses from the battlefield. Some unfortunate souls spent those days on the blood-soaked field, wounded and helpless before any aid arrived. Rogues were robbing and murdering throughout the field. There were no white tombs for those who had fallen, no timeless memorials. Their bodies were burned on the battlefield in enormous piles.  
  
The Duke of Wellington’s victorious army headed back to Britain, but Severus had chosen to stay behind. There was a constant need for skilled staff in Brussels’ hospitals, and Severus felt no desire to go back with the rest of the regiment.  
  
So he stood at his window, contemplating the sight of the city before his eyes. Brussels was mocking him as well. It taunted him with joyful smiles and starry eyes, brimming with the promise of times never to come. It kept him awake with memories of endless nights, shared burdens and companionable silences. It kept throwing his own words back in his face.  
  
 _You are nothing like him._  
  
You brave, loyal, sweet, innocent, beautiful boy, filled with the love of life to the brim.  
  
 _I have nothing to give._  
  
Severus had learned a long time ago that his touch would sully and poison everything he reached for, that his love would kill. So he had sworn never to love again.  
  
 _Go away! Get out!_  
  
Take your dreams, your love, your life and flee while you still can… Go home with your comrades, find your goal, settle down, and please be happy.  
  
Severus turned his back on the sight of the city and on his foolish, purposeless thoughts. He still had a duty to fulfill and patients to heal. It was time to leave all the other useless nonsense behind.

 

**1821, Police Station, London**  
  
The cell in which Harry was currently held was dark and damp. It was nothing extraordinary; probably all the holding cells throughout the world shared the same qualities. Albeit this cell was not as clichéd as to have an oozing roof, driving the prisoners into insanity with its never-ceasing noise, nor did it have mice serving as friendly companions for the desperate captives.  
  
Fortunately, Harry was the only occupant of the holding cell at the moment, so nobody disturbed his solitude. The guards who had escorted him here departed as soon as they had deposited him in the cell. He hadn’t heard nor had he seen anybody for at least two hours, or so it seemed; he wasn’t sure because his pocket watch had been confiscated. So he had the perfect opportunity to reflect on his situation.  
  
His reckless actions had landed him in a very unsavoury position. Even if he wasn’t hanged, his career would be over. It was a very likely possibility that he would be hanged, moreover: not simply hanged, but hanged publicly, allowing everyone to see his shame. Even if he got out of this alive, no respectable hospital would work with him after this. His imprisonment would reflect badly on his friends, too. Hermione was still unmarried; a scandal like this might ruin her reputation. Oh, such a horrible situation he’d caused, bringing all this trouble upon his loved ones’ heads!  
  
But he had needed to do something, for he couldn’t have let them take Snape in! It would have been a much bigger blow to the man’s reputation than it was to Harry’s; after all, the man, as opposed to Harry, _had_ a reputation that was worth saving. On the other hand, Snape was always capable of taking care of himself, and he didn’t need Harry’s help. Harry was so embarrassed; he had managed to make a fool of himself in front of Snape again. And as if that wasn’t enough, the man supposedly had kissed somebody!  
  
The sound of approaching footsteps broke off his train of thought. The noise of steps increased until it reached Harry’s cell door, where it abruptly stopped. There was silence for a moment, then the door opened with a bang, slamming into the wall, making Harry jump up from his sitting position on the bed.  
  
Suddenly Doctor Snape stood in Harry’s cell, immediately filling the tiny space with his presence. He was dressed in black from head to toe, his travelling coat billowing around him, and his long black hair broken loose from its ribbon, framing the man’s pale face wearing an expression of ultimate fury. The man ran his eyes over Harry’s frame, probably assessing the damage, but none was found.  
  
“Potter, you imbecile! Why the hell did you cast _Confundo_ on me, as well?” The man was seething.  
  
“I… I hadn’t had my wand at hand, and I needed to act quickly. I wanted to help,” Harry explained awkwardly.  
  
“If you had let me handle the situation instead of barging in like a deluded lion to my rescue, we could have solved this much more easily!” Snape reprimanded him, and Harry felt ashamed.  
  
Snape looked around in the cell with a frown. “This place is repulsive. We should get out of here as soon as possible”  
  
“Get out? But I am under arrest; won’t there be a trial?” Harry wasn’t sure what was happening.  
  
“Oh, you melodramatic little shit, should I remind you that you are a wizard? Being hanged innocently is not your only option, you see,” Snape snarled.  
  
“Oh.” Harry felt like an idiot. Quite honestly, that was a common occurrence in Snape’s presence.  
  
Snape sighed and started to explain. “The events of this evening were obviously part of a set-up, a trap for me.” Seeing Harry’s confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you find it suspicious that the policemen knew where to find us? We were in the middle of the street. We had left the house minutes earlier, telling no one where to find us. Someone evidently had spied on us and reported our position to the authorities, when they arrived to arrest me.”  
  
“The same someone who reported the kiss?”  
  
“Potter, there was no kiss. This whole thing was a sham.” Snape sighed wearily. “If you hadn’t seen it fit to wreak havoc on my mind, I could have solved this then and there. This way I wasted an hour on clearing my mind from your slovenly attempts at mind-magic before I was able to start to dissolve the damage already done.” He gave Harry his most scary and disapproving glare. “It turned out that the prestigious member of society witnessing this aforementioned nonexistent kiss was McLaggen. He hoped to get me out of the picture and win the position at Guy’s for himself.”  
  
“What happened with him?”  
  
“An _Obliviate_ , a _Confundo_ and a suggestion to tell the truth instead of his usual boot-licking behaviour. When I left Lady Manner’s house to come here, he was enlightening her ladyship as to his opinion on her obnoxious interior decoration; before that he had informed his dear Uncle Tiberius about the way said uncle’s facial hair makes him look like an orangutan. By happy chance, the lady had invited some of the hospital governors, as well,” Snape added with an evil smirk. Harry smirked with him.  
  
“Fortunately, there were no more witnesses of your senseless heroics. It would have been much worse if I had had to _Obliviate_ a whole houseful of people, not only the two officers and McLaggen.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Harry apologized soulfully. Snape waved his apology away with a gesture of his hand.  
  
“We should get back; Miss Granger tends to be concerned about you.”  
  
“What are your intentions with Hermione?” Harry blurted out. It was the perfect chance to ask the question, even if he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer. “She is my friend, you know, I want what is best for her. If you intend to marry her, you will have to make her happy!”  
  
Snape snorted.  
  
“There are two topics of discussion in Miss Granger’s repertoire that I became very well acquainted with. One of those is the numerous, but still highly appreciated, character flaws of one Mr. Ronald Weasley.” Something was burning in the depth of Snape’s eyes beyond his amusement. He took a step towards Harry.  
  
“And the other?” Harry’s voice wavered.  
  
“It’s you. Miss Granger seems to be very insistent on the matter of sharing her knowledge and her impressions of your character.” He took one more step, his cloak brushing Harry’s knee.  
  
“Have you learned anything useful?” Harry’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper.  
  
“Nothing that I hadn’t known already, Mr. Potter, I assure you.” There was something in the man’s eyes that made Harry shiver. Some tenderness that never was there before. “I don’t intend to marry Miss Granger. The one I would marry, I can’t; thus, I shall remain a bachelor.”  
  
Snape stood only inches away from Harry, who thought he could feel the man’s breath on his cheek. Snape raised his hand and, with the lightest touch, he started to caress Harry’s cheek. Harry involuntary leaned into his touch.  
  
“My sweet, innocent, beautiful boy,” Snape whispered.  
  
But Harry didn’t dare to hope. Not yet.  
  
“And what about Regulus?” he asked with a tremble in his voice.  
  
Severus’ hand didn’t leave Harry’s face. “He is a part of my past, a part of who I am. I will always treasure his memory, but he is not my present, and definitely not my future. None of my future plans contain him, whereas many of them are built on you. If you are willing to be a part of them.”  
  
“What would those plans be?” Harry inquired softly.  
  
“I intend to wait out the duration of your apprenticeship in London. After that I would appreciate it if we settled down somewhere in the country. I would like to live somewhere without prying eyes examining my every move. I have a desire to research a possible fusion of Muggle and wizarding methods, especially in the area of apothecary skills, in treating some common Muggle diseases. Any other plans are ours, not solely mine to decide on.”  
  
“These are good, solid plans.” Harry laid his head on Snape’s shoulder.  
  
“I am glad that you approve.” Severus leaned in for a kiss.  
  
It was chaste, a brief hug from one lip to the other, but it promised so much more to come.  
  
“We have a dinner to attend,” Severus reminded the both of them. Harry nodded and they finally left the holding cell together, Severus leading on their way out, with Harry following his future out of his prison.

 

**Christmas Morning, a few years later, Godric’s Hollow**  
  
As usual, Severus is the first to wake up. He has always cherished these moments of peace. Harry is still sleeping by his side, providing Severus the opportunity to simply enjoy the other’s presence. To bask in his heat, breathe in his scent, while Harry is unaware of his attention. Harry usually sleeps in the nude, sprawled out on the bed with the sheets barely covering his body. Severus can trace every scar and imperfection on his skin; first, he will caress them only with his eyes. He knows all of them. The one on Harry’s shoulder is from the bullet at Waterloo. He has a fresh one on his elbow from last week’s fall from a broomstick. Severus shakes his head. Foolish creature. There is a lonely chicken pox mark on Harry’s hip; it is one of Severus’ favourites. On his leg he has a long one from an accident in school with a magical creature.  
  
After he has sought out all of them with his eyes, Severus will soothe them with the lightest of touches. His ministrations will not wake Harry yet, but will make him stir.  
  
After he is finished, not leaving any of the little imperfections out, his hands filling their own role in this worship, he will kiss each and every one of them.  
  
This is the part when Harry wakes, and he will of course return Severus’ attention. A caress for a caress, a kiss for a kiss. On mornings like this, they make love tenderly.  
  
And this morning will be the same. Severus is looking forward to it.  
  
It has snowed during the night. Harry loves the snow and it will make him happy. Severus smiles. He surely will have to endure his brat’s fooling around in the snow today.  
  
And today they are meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Doctor and Mrs. Granger, and Lady Manners for a formal Christmas dinner.  
  
Ron surely will be complaining about Lady Manners defeating him in chess. With Doctor Granger, Severus will probably talk about the hardships of directing a hospital. Mrs. Granger and her ladyship will be interested in Severus’ new developments in the area of apothecary skills.  
  
Yes, it definitely will be a good day.  
  
But first, Severus has his Harry to cherish.

 

-The End-


End file.
